


My Boy

by rispacooper



Series: Men Play Rough (The Hardboiled P.I. AU) [2]
Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Detective Noir, Dom/sub, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-01
Updated: 2011-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:55:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rispacooper/pseuds/rispacooper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The other day plainapple challenged me to write something Shassie...and this is what happened. It's...not quite Shassie. It’s...remember that AU thing from forever ago, the hardboiled private eye AU? It's a snippet set later in that same universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plainapple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plainapple/gifts).



> This snippet is in that universe only set later in the imaginary story in my head. And I wrote it in a hurry, so it might not make sense. Anyway, in my head, there was this beach scene where constantly inappropriate Lassie gets annoyed at workaholic!uptight!Shawn and forces him to relax and though I didn’t go into it in detail here, it’s all caring!dom!Lassie and Shawn is completely touched and totally turned on and it convinces him to finally make a move.

If I’d needed another indication of how deep in trouble I was, then the uncomfortable tightness in my chest and the kick against my ribs at seeing the motorcycle in my driveway would have been it. There were better things than coming home to find a pretty, good man waiting on my doorstep, but damned if I could think of them at the moment.

That motorcycle, that dangerous, sexy, deathtrap of a rebellion by the city’s hero cop was warm as I passed it, emanating heat as much as it radiated risk and speed, and surprising me all over again though I should have known better. I wondered when he’d gotten it and how he’d dealt with his father’s disapproval. Then I chided myself for wondering—and for the rush of protective anger that was only growing stronger no matter what I did. Today, that scene on the beach, hadn’t helped any.

I had no business feeling anything like this. He was a client, I was on a case. Even if I’d given a crap about that rule, he was straight, and potentially taken.

As I had once been, I reminded myself, like I’d once been the famous face of the department. But Shawn Spencer wasn’t like me. He was different.

 _Special_ , my mind whispered, but I ignored it the way I ignored him as I got out my key. No use asking how he knew where I lived or why he was here, it was either about the case or he’d thought about what I’d done and he was going to finally tell me I’d gone too far.

I supposed I had. Troubled, good-looking men had that effect on me. He wouldn’t be the first to take offense—or to pretend to.

But though he was squirming like a slaveboy with a secret and instruction to keep silent, he didn’t speak, just followed me inside without waiting for an invitation. Pretty rude, for a golden boy. He didn’t hide his survey of my home once inside either.

I clenched my jaw, but it was fair so I didn’t stop him. He looked good next to my bookshelves, by my couch, all straight suit and neat hair, dark and tasteful and right at home. If I wanted him for mine, I would order him to strip off that detective’s suit so I could have him naked too, and then, bare like that, I’d give him the use of my house, my home.

I wanted.

As I watched, Spencer ran his fingertips over the spines of my biographies and then wet his lips before taking his hand away. His cheeks were stained with color, embarrassment or warmth, maybe anger. Anger was possible, after the way I’d spoken to him earlier, but if he was going to take a swing at me, he’d better do it soon. It had been a long day and I was tired.

When I realized I was staring I moved, loosening my tie and pouring myself a drink. The speaking I left to him, I’d done enough already today.

The memory made my heart give another kick, but I did my best to quiet it with some scotch, neat. When I swallowed it in one gulp Spencer turned to look at me.

He must have heard the sound, small though it was, and I burned to think of him as he’d been that afternoon, senses deprived, looking blindly to me. But if he _had_ heard me he seemed surprised when his eyes swept over me and he saw the drink in my hand. He licked his lips again. All I could think for a moment was that the great detective should not have missed that, and then I wondered how he could have.

I thought of him blind again, blinded, with my tie over those sharp, all-seeing eyes of his, totally dependant on the sound of my voice for direction, on me. My pulse sped up.

He’d left his mouth open, nervously bitten lips parted in surprise, an expression of worry or distrust not quite escaping. He’d turned his head toward me, a shocked, silent little sunflower who didn’t reach up to pull the blindfold away.

“Fuck.” I changed my mind and spoke first. I wasn’t in the habit of seducing repressed heterosexual men, even gorgeous, smart ones who sometimes caught me staring and didn’t object, who sometimes stared back before flushing and turning away, and I damn well knew better than to speak to them the way I’d talked to him today; I wasn’t his daddy.

My heart, and my dick, seemed to think otherwise.

“Today.” Spencer paused but then straightened. “Earlier.”

I poured myself another scotch. “You’ll have to be more specific, Spencer. I did a lot today.” _That_ made his eyes seem darker, almost angry, a little less Boy Scout. I liked it, but I was a fool with a bellyful of scotch making me feel soft. “You mean the beach.” He didn’t flinch at my words, I did, but I covered it by finishing my second glass before I put it down.

Spencer had asked for an update and I’d met him at the beach, found him eating his lunch alone on a bench facing the water. It had done things to me, seeing him alone like that, but that had been nothing to way my insides had twisted to watch Shawn Spencer study everyone and everything at that beach like there was going to be a test later and he had to remember every detail. He’d been working even when he shouldn’t have been working and that was a one-way ticket to burn out and a drinking problem or blowing up like I’d done, and neither option, I’d decided, was acceptable for Spencer.

But I’d never been as driven, as pushed, as this one. I knew who pushed him. It had made me think of my gun. It had made me think of kidnapping the SBPD’s prince and carrying him off on the back of a horse. It had made me rip off my tie and blindfold him on a public beach and order him to relax, to not see, or think, or analyze for once.

Christ, those orders, careful whispers into Shawn’s ear, over his mouth when he’d turned his head to follow the sound. They weren’t teasing and they weren’t flirting. They were commands, as gentle as I could make them. _Listen to the water, the kids playing, your breaths. Feel the breeze, the fabric of your shirt as you move, my heat next to you. Feel, but don’t use those eyes, not yet._

His skin hot, cheeks dark, hair mussed, mouth open, staying there, sightless and trusting, the dream sub, _my_ dream sub, breathing hard and sitting still and yet so focused. I’d frowned. He’d been so focused on me that he’d known it anyway and had licked his swollen, bottom lip and I’d had the stray thought that he was waiting for permission to speak.

“The beach,” Spencer repeated suddenly. I shoved the hot knot of need and fury and confusion away and gave him the same focus he’d given me.

“What do you want me to say, sorry? Sorry, precious, but I’m not.”

Spencer’s cell phone had saved me from making a bigger fool of myself. Too bad I didn’t feel grateful.

“I didn’t think you were.” Shawn shook his head, once, then lifted his chin.

“No go, angel.” I had to turn away and I yanked at the tie that had started the trouble—no, it had begun the moment that Spencer had set foot in my office above _Ruby’s_ and it had only gotten worse with everything the man did. Every clue he offered me, every lead he tracked down, even the sure way he’d walked through the crowd at _Ruby’s_ with his gaze fixed right on me.

It was no use. Spencer might be the type to make my chest tight and my heart kick but that wasn’t what I was to him.

“I’m not interested in teaching you the whys and hows of pleasing a man.”

“Yes you are.” The speed of his reply, the confidence in it, made my head spin like I’d been on a bender. He’d guessed but he might as well have been mind reading. He knew every thought I’d had about him, not that I’d been subtle.

 _“Good boy.”_ I’d whispered it to Shawn, stupid and happy when a breeze had toyed with his slicked back hair, when Spencer had turned back to me, his smile falling into a shocked circle, his body going utterly still and making me realize that I’d taken my daddy fantasies about the man too far. I should let him talk, let him go, and then go get laid.

“I can get a fuck anywhere.” My tone was too warm, so I flattened my voice and kept my gaze level when he looked over his shoulder and flashed that arrogant grin of his that had all the answers. Spencer’s cheeks were flushed, as if he had a fever.

“No offense, Lassiter, but so could I.” Maybe he had the same fever that I had.

Pain and scotch made me stupid. Not my boy, I thought, not with anyone else.

“ _No_.” I bit it out but then tossed my head. He wasn’t my boy and never would be. That wasn’t how life worked; perfection didn’t fall into your lap or wait on your porch.

“You want me.” Again, Spencer wasn’t asking, not the way he had, silently, pulling my tie away to stare at me, stopping when his phone had started to ring again.

I moved, making him track me as I came around the couch and circled behind him. I shrugged for his benefit. There was no point in denying it any longer. When I was within a foot of him I stopped and leaned in to speak softly against the back of his neck.

“You have no idea how much.” I was a big bad wolf but the little lost lamb in front of me was armed. If he wanted to stray from the path for a night, he could take care of himself. Tomorrow was for me to deal with. This wouldn’t break me.

But when Shawn Spencer stood his ground, shivering at my words and wet breath and half-turning to try to keep an eye on me, I felt like I’d been hit with an exploding round.

I slid in close anyway, like a sap, like a fool, expecting him to panic and bolt. I wanted to be even closer and cleared my throat instead, taking what I could before he ran.

“Eyes forward if we’re doing this, angel.”

His mouth opened, maybe to protest the pet name, but then he turned his face away. I was nearly pressed to his back, he had to know I could feel him shaking. Whatever he was curious about, men, the lifestyle, it wouldn’t matter once I touched him.

Spencer might be bound by rules, but they were too many rules, the wrong rules. They weren’t mine.

I was breathing hard, too hard, the way I was too hot, too tense, but that was nothing to Shawn’s fast, uneven breathing, his uncertainty, I thought, his fear.

I knew I was wrong when I lowered my head to put my lips to his throat.

He let out a breath, a sound, and caught it in the same moment. I imagined him biting his lip to hold it back as if he wasn’t shivering with need now that I’d given him what he wanted.

I opened my mouth, breathing a hard circle of ownership but not a bruise, not yet, and his hand went to my bookshelf. I glimpsed his knuckles, white, as he held on.

“My boys are not quiet,” I told him and felt that kick, that pounding, raw kick at his slow nod and his first, careful, quiet gasp for me.

I remembered the first time a man had touched me and ran my palm down his back to feel the shudders that were only getting more desperate.

I wondered why me, why now, but I knew better than to ask. I only steadied him with my other hand and sucked a mark onto the hot, stubble-rough skin he offered me.

There were better things in the world than the low, still half-stifled noises Spencer made before I touched his cock, but I couldn’t think of a single one except maybe the way he murmured the nickname for me that he must have heard Ruby use.

“Lassie.”

I liked that too.

“Louder, angel.” A rumble, nothing more, but he was mine the moment I slicked my palm to jack him and my name tore out of him. Mine, I thought, and I was well and truly fucked if one word from one boy did me in.

But he was mine.

My boy.


End file.
